


seek it out and ye shall find

by moeblobmegane



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 11:46:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11713770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moeblobmegane/pseuds/moeblobmegane
Summary: Ryosuke finds himself lost in Paris, and Yuto is the stranger eager to help him find his way.





	seek it out and ye shall find

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pokimunchies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokimunchies/gifts).



> title is from the one republic song ‘counting stars’  
> special thanks to yye2017 mods, especially riko-sama♥  
> additional thanks to my beta♥♥♥ and google translate for being my #2 support  
> i’m not sure if this is what you had in mind when you requested this but I hope you like it, pokimunchies-sama +_+

**i.**

Paris is cold but beautiful.

The air is crisp, almost biting, at this time of the year, and Ryosuke immediately regrets not bringing a heavier coat. Goosebumps spread on his arms as he walks out of the train station. In the open air, he is greeted by the view of buildings and, in the distance, the Eiffel Tower. Tens of people pass by in their fashionable clothes, minding their own business and going about their way.

Ryosuke sighs, a puff of cold air clouding his vision for a moment. He hastily takes off his glasses and wipes it down, walking to the side to escape the milling crowd.

He looks down at his phone.

Blinks.

“Shit,” he mutters, closing his eyes in disbelief. He cannot believe it. His phone’s battery is at 5%. His phone, that has his dictionary and map and only way of communicating, is about to die.

He figures this is expected. This trip has been pleasant so far, and that’s not the way life goes for him, right? Something bad has to happen. It’s the rule of life.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, _I can’t speak French._

 

This is how it starts:

With a desperate attempt at communication, a kind smile, and hope blooming from despair.

 

Ryosuke is not good with strangers. He is not good with words, or French, or even English. He is bad in a variety of things. He has learned to accept that as who he is. Approaching strangers is not an easy task for an anxious tourist like himself. That is exactly why he had the phone in the first place; so he would not have to approach anyone.

“ _Es-vous perdu_?”

He looks up— and _up,_ the man is _tall—_  to see the most beautiful face he has ever seen in his life: a boyish smile and twinkling eyes, framed by a sharp jaw and artfully styled black hair. He wears bronze eye shadow with ease, and when Ryosuke looks closely, he could see specks of glitter scattered around his beautiful face. He is _shining_. It fits.

The man has a mole under his eye, which Ryosuke finds particularly fascinating. It’s mesmerizing, that simple black dot in a sea of brown and gold. Ryosuke could stare at his face forever. Maybe he should. Basking in this man’s beauty is favorable to trying to piece together a single sentence in any foreign tongue.

Confusion colors the man’s expression, and he moves to Ryosuke’s side, shifting the view. For the first time, Ryosuke notices his clothes. He is wearing layers over layers— a heavy double-breasted gray coat, over a midnight blue vest, over a beige checkered shirt— but they are fitted to his slim body. It looks warm and comfortable, but stylish enough that Ryosuke cannot imagine himself wearing it. He’s wearing a bright blue bowtie around his neck, like it’s normal. He wears the ensemble with ease, with casual grace only confident people could pull off.

“ _Are you lost?_ ”

This time, the man speaks in perfect English.

His lips are glossy and has glitter on it, and Ryosuke tries very hard not to stare.

“ _Rosto, yessu,_ ” he answers in his butchered English. “ _Need, uh, duh-rections, purizu_.”

The man stares at him for a moment, expression turning thoughtful. And then he smiles, bright and sudden, and it feels as if he shines even more. The glitter has nothing on that smile. “Are you Japanese?” His Japanese is perfect too. It sounds natural and with no hint of an accent.

Ryosuke belatedly realizes what he means. “Yes!” He straightens up, relief flooding his senses. “I’m Japanese! Are you? Can you help me?”

“I am,” the man confirms. He offers his hand, a kind smile on his lips. “Nakajima Yuto. Nice to meet you.”

“That’s… a completely Japanese name,” he could not help but say. Yuto looks like he is part of Paris, like he should be an art piece in a museum. He looks beautiful, but intimidating and out-of-reach; made to be admired from afar, but never touched.

Yuto laughs, loud and boisterous and with no grace; a perfect classical painting streaked with bright incongruent colors. “I am one-hundred percent Japanese. You?”

“One-hundred percent Japanese, too,” he says. Yuto waits for him to continue, so he adds, “Yamada Ryosuke. I’m lost.”

“I figured,” Yuto says with an amused smile. “Where are you going? I can help.”

“The nearest museum?” Ryosuke looks down at his backpack on the side. It contains everything he owns, from his clothes to his wallet to his passport. Backpacking across Europe has been the worst idea to cork off the bad-idea-year he has had. “The closer, the better.”

Yuto follows his gaze. “If those are too heavy, you can leave it at my place.”

Ryosuke narrows his eyes. “Sorry, I don’t really know you.” And people that beautiful cannot be trusted. Roses has thorns for a reason.

“Fair enough,” Yuto agrees with a shrug. Without saying anything, he runs off to a nearby office and disappears inside. Ryosuke feels bad for a few minutes, wondering if he fucked himself up by not being trusting, until Yuto reappears with a piece of paper in hand. He runs back to Ryosuke’s side and presents it with a flourish.

It’s a pamphlet of a museum, a few blocks from here.

“I’ve been wanting to go here for ages, and this is my first break in a while,” Yuto explains.

“Jacquemart-André museum?” It looks interesting, and definitely not famous enough to be as crowded as the more famous museums in Paris. This is exactly what he’s looking for. Yuto’s words sink in, then, and Ryosuke finds himself gaping at the other man. “Wait. You’re going with me?”

Yuto nods as if it is the only choice they have. “I want to go, you need to go, and I can help with your bags! It’s perfect!”

Ryosuke would wonder later, much later, if he could have said no to that smile.

 

Yuto asks Ryosuke to wait for him at the building’s lobby, saying he needs to change out of his clothes. He comes back wearing a tattered green shirt, a black blazer with shiny gold buttons, and a gray wooly scarf. His pants are similarly tattered but has a shiny quality, like it is a kind of cloth Ryosuke has never seen. Paris fashion is weird.

The flashy makeup is completely gone, sadly, but he is beautiful even without them.

“That’s…” Ryosuke scrunches up his nose, unable to find a word to describe those clothes.

“Homeless chic,” Yuto proudly says.

“What?” Ryosuke could not have heard that right.

“ _Homeless chic_ ,” he repeats, this time with a heavy French accent. “Looks good on me, right?”

Ryosuke thinks so. He doesn’t think there’s any kind of style that would not fit Yuto’s frame. That statement is never coming out of his mouth, though. He has _shame_. Lots of it.

Yuto then raises his hand, showing off a white knitted hat on it. “For you,” he says.

Ryosuke continues to stare in confusion.

“I’m lending it,” Yuto explains, stepping closer and putting the hat on his head. His hands are gentle but firm, long fingers tucking in Ryosuke’s blonde hair into the hat. “There,” he says. “Looks great.”

Ryosuke hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.

 

The walk to the museum is Ryosuke’s most pleasant experience from this trip. Yuto is charming and nice, and he knows Paris by heart. He talks about the restaurants they pass through, about the different tourists he has seen around, and the art scene in the area. Ryosuke is enraptured by everything he says. There is _joy,_ simple and unhidden, in the way he talks about everything. He rants about the bakeries in the morning, and how hard it is to restrain himself from buying everything. “I need to keep this figure, you know?” he jokes.

Ryosuke watches Yuto talk about the city, and he falls in love with Paris.

 

He has been staring at this painting for a while, he knows. Yuto is starting to fidget at his side.

“It’s-” He sighs, longing and envious in the same huff of air. “This is a masterpiece,” he says. “The way Hubert Robert presented the Gallery is so… it’s a vast landscape with so much detail, and there’s a lot happening, but your eyes get drawn to the destruction at the ceiling. There’s so much inside— like those _cows?_ Holy shit, that’s such a good touch— but what humans focus on is that light peeking from the outside, that promise of a larger landscape. It teases at something you can’t see.”

Yuto stares at him, and a small smile tugs at his lips. “You really like it, huh?”

“Of course,” Ryosuke answers, ducking his head in embarrassment. He might have gotten too passionate there. “It’s a famous work of art.”

“No, no, it’s good,” Yuto says, smiling for real now. “It’s good to love something that much. People show their true selves when they talk about something they love.” His eyes are all soft and warm, and Ryosuke is drawn to them as if they contain the light that promises something more. “I like Yama-chan’s face when he talks about art.”

Ryosuke stares at him for a beat. “Yama-chan?”

Yuto shrugs. “It fits you. It’s cute.”

“Nakajima,” he says slowly, deliberately, “I don’t really know you.”

Yuto fakes a dramatic gasp, stepping back and clutching a hand to his chest. “I’ve opened up my soul to you, and this is what you tell me? I’m _hurt_.”

Ryosuke rolls his eyes. “I didn’t ask you to open your soul,” he says. He thinks: _You wear your heart on your sleeves, and it scares me_.

 

They spend two hours in the museum, and then another hour drinking coffee at the museum café. They end up walking along a park, and then at a fancy restaurant Yuto swears is the best in this area. Ryosuke learns that Yuto is from Tokyo too, and that he has a little brother in high school right now. His little brother, Raiya, is a few years younger than Misaki. Ryosuke shares about his own siblings, about Chihiro’nee and Misaki, who both makes it their life purpose to annoy Ryosuke everyday. They’re different that way. Yuto _adores_ his little brother, eyes lighting up as he talks about him, while Ryosuke can only sigh fondly as he talks about his sister’s teasing.

They don’t talk about school or work, or why they’re in Paris. Ryosuke does not want to say anything, and he thinks Yuto might have secrets of his own, too. Yuto is open and free, but not completely, and that’s fine.

That’s okay. They’re strangers in a foreign country. Companionship like this is rare, and Ryosuke does not want to ruin it by talking about why he ended up here. Sad stories are only fun to share when they are over.

Instead, they talk about what they see.

Yuto talks about the early morning farmer’s market a few blocks from his hotel, about the bands that play in the park at night, about loving the carefree street fashion in Paris more than the name-brand items in fashion shows. He talks about people, and beauty, and the stars.

Ryosuke talks about the paintings, and the sculptures, and the architecture. He talks about technique, and mediums, and dreams. Yuto listens to him intently, like this is interesting for him too, like spending his time listening to Ryosuke talk is the best way to spend his break. Yuto smiles at his excitement, and laughs at his jokes. It’s a heady feeling.

Yuto gives him all of his attention, and Ryosuke falls in love with his eyes.

 

This is how it escalates:

A rum-soaked strawberry pastry, a seductive smile, and French phrases whispered in his ear.

 

Ryosuke does not know how they ended up in Yuto’s hotel room. Or, well, he does know, but it’s hard to think straight when Yuto is kissing down the line of his nape and undressing him from behind, his muscular arms tight around him, his fingers deftly unbuttoning Ryosuke’s shirt. Yuto is _everywhere_ , and Ryosuke cannot think straight.

 

They are not drunk, not really.

Ryosuke is a lightweight but even he cannot get drunk from a pastry, no matter how soaked in rum it is. They call it a strawberry baba, and Yuto would not stop insisting they eat some as soon as Ryosuke mentioned his obsession with strawberries. “You’re in Paris! You _have_ to!” he had said. They ate it at Patisserie Stohrer, the oldest cake shop in France, or so Yuto proudly proclaimed. It was delicious and was a new kind of flavor, and Ryosuke wanted more.

Yuto sliced it with his fork, and teasingly offered him another bite. Ryosuke leaned close, and ate it while staring right into Yuto’s eyes.

A light blush blossomed on Yuto’s cheeks, and Ryosuke thought, _I want to trace it with my lips_.

 

Yuto kisses like the Paris air, cold and biting and leaving goosebumps on his skin. His mouth tastes like rum and strawberries, and Ryosuke _wants more_.

 

Yuto’s hands are everywhere all at once; on his cheeks, on his shoulders, on his chest, on his thighs. They are warm and solid, and Ryosuke _aches_.

 

Yuto fucks like he loves you, like he would give everything for you, like this is exactly where he wants to be. He fucks Ryosuke with intensity and unbidden _joy_. He stares right into Ryosuke’s eyes and whispers, “ _Je ne suis pas saoule, je suis juste ivre de toi”_. Ryosuke cannot understand a single word he’s saying, but it is the hottest phrase he has ever heard.

“More,” he whispers. “ _Please_.”

Ryosuke whimpers and moans and screams his name, and Yuto comes with a shout of his name, too.

 

**ii.**

Warm rays of sunlight wakes him up from deep slumber, and when he looks to his side, Yuto is still asleep.

Ryosuke takes time checking on himself. He feels fine, though slightly sore all over. It feels good. He is warm and sated in a way he has not felt in ages. He feels better than he has felt since graduation, even.

He glances at Yuto, who’s sleeping starfished on the bed, one arm splayed on Ryosuke’s waist, and a leg on top of Ryosuke’s. The mole under his eye is still as prominent as before, a focal point on his sleeping face. His hair is all over the place, perhaps because of Ryosuke’s hands incessantly tugging at it yesterday, and it looks good. It gives him a softer air than before, makes him feel less like a god and more like someone who would like Ryosuke.

 _It’s a dream_ , he thinks.

It feels like a dream even now, even when he feels the soreness in his body and can see the state of undress they’re in. None of this feels real. It feels like a hallucination Paris gifted him for his last day: a Parisian angel swooping in and reminding him what joy and passion and beauty looks like.

Gingerly, Ryosuke gets out of bed and takes his clothes to the bathroom. He showers as quietly as he could and dresses for his flight home.

When he comes out, Yuto is still sleeping. His room has good windows, the curtains opened enough so the light streams from outside and directly to the bed. Yuto’s back has a spattering of moles too, and the slope of his back and the form of his arms are as beautiful in the light as Ryosuke imagined they would be while touching them in the dark. He looks like a painting. Yuto looks soft, and warm, and everything Ryosuke wants.

So he takes out his sketchbook, and starts to draw for the first time in two years.

 

**iii.**

This is how it ends:

Like waking up from a dream too beautiful to be real.

 

Japan is the way it always is, steady and unyielding; home, for better or for worse.

Ryosuke picks up his luggage and walks out, taking out his phone to check on Yabu’s messages. His parents and siblings all have something to do, so Yabu offered to fetch him like the good _senpai_ that he is.

He waits at one corner, looking around and taking in everything. He has missed this: Japanese people walking around, and kanji on every screen. Familiar faces lined the magazines and the posters and—

Yuto is on a poster, a gigantic one, at one wall of the airport. He is with a beautiful lady, their expressions seductive and alluring. They are wearing formal clothes: Yuto’s tuxedo fitted perfectly with sharp cuts, and the woman wearing a red silk backless dress. He has his hand on the lady’s bare back, lips close to her ear. His expression is strangely reminiscent of how he looked just a day ago. Ryosuke shivers at the memory.

“Nakajima Yuto, huh?”

Ryosuke wakes up from his daze and looks at his side, where Yabu is already standing. He’s looking at the poster too, eyes narrowed in thought. “Yeah, I-” He wonders if Yabu would believe it if he tells him about what happened.

“My friend works with him,” Yabu says, before Ryosuke could say anything. “Really handsome in person, apparently. I heard he’s a player.” He grimaces. “Must suck for that girl he’s dating.” He shakes his head, disappointed at this model he hasn’t even met.

Ryosuke freezes. “What?”

“Isn’t he dating that half… That girl, you know? From that morning show? The cute girl that always sits beside Mariko.” Yabu looks at him like he’s being weird. “It’s the rumor I heard, anyway.”

“Oh.” Ryosuke tries very hard to control his expression.

It was a one-night stand, in Paris, where he knew no one. It was _nothing_.

He’s home now. Paris was a dream, but he is home now. Paris can remain a dream forever.

 

**iv.**

“You know the feeling when you don’t know something, but as soon as you know, you see it everywhere?” Ryosuke narrows his eyes at his sketchpad, wonders if he should stop drawing these fingers. They are suspiciously familiar, like they were drawn from memory. Long, nimble fingers, connected to a beautiful hand, and to slender arms, and a perfect chest.

“Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon,” Yabu answers as he flips the magazine he’s reading.

Yuto is on the backcover, taunting him. “What?” Ryosuke glares at the magazine.

“The phenomenon when you suddenly notice something as soon as you know about it,” Yabu explains, looking up now. “Are you okay? You’ve been distracted. I thought you’d be happier after passing the transfer test.”

“I _am_ happy,” he grumbles. He is. His life has never been better. With his future decidedly on its right path, he’s more at ease and confident with his art. The transfer from his original business school, to the Fine Arts university where Yabu graduated, is the single best decision he has ever made. He should be _ecstatic._ “But I recently found out about this… stranger I met in Paris being a top model, and I keep seeing him everywhere.”

Yabu’s interest is obviously piqued. He puts down the magazine (face down, thankfully) as he leans in. “A model?” His lips are already quirked in a teasing smile.

Ryosuke shakes his head. “It’s not an interesting story.” It is the most interesting story he has from his trip, but he will _never_ say it out loud. He will take this secret to the grave. Only him, his hand, and his secret sketchpad will remember that night.

“Sure,” Yabu says. “If you want to be secretive and ungrateful to your senpai, then go on.”

“It’s really not interesting,” he repeats. “Don’t worry about it.”

Ryosuke will forget about it. He will.

 

**v.**

Harajuku is as eclectic as he remembers from the few times he went here during high school. There are people wearing casual clothes, with their plain shirts and dark pants, and there are people wearing clothes that Ryosuke cannot define in one word. There are hot pink shoes and neon-colored pants and all-black get-ups. It’s refreshing, the vibrancy of it all. Harajuku is alive, and it beckons you to be who you want to be.

Ryosuke stares down at the calling card in his hand. _Le Magnifique_ building, it says. He has not been around this area much, and he dreads to ask anyone for directions.

It’s been two years since he backpacked through Europe, but he still has not improved in that regard. He is still bad with talking to strangers, and he is still bad with foreign languages. Luckily, the latter is a skill he doesn’t need right now, and he’s learned to grit his teeth to do what needs to be done.

He has a job interview, and he refuses to be late.

“Excuse me?”

He walks to the first person he sees standing outside the nearest fashion store. He is tall and lean, wearing a plain black cap on his head and casual clothes that are in contrast with the flashy display inside.

The man turns to face him, and Ryosuke freezes.

 

This is how it starts, the second time around:

With awkwardness, an apology, and hope blooming once again.

 

“Sorry,” he blurts out, immediately. “I was just gonna ask for…” He steps back, ready to bolt at any given time. “You must be busy,” he says. “I’m gonna ask someone else.” He tries to turn but stops at Yuto’s voice.

“Yama-chan!” Yuto’s expression shows surprise, more than anything. “You’re…” He blinks, then, as if registering what Ryosuke said. “Wait, busy?”

“You’re a model,” Ryosuke says, unable to run away with those eyes trained on him. They are as pretty as he remembers. He should probably be wearing sunglasses, to hide that from view. He is so obviously beautiful that Ryosuke is sure people would recognize him as a top model even without knowing who he is. In retrospect, Ryosuke should have noticed in Paris. He was wearing _eyeshadow_ back then. “So you’re busy, right? You should… go do that. Modelling thing.”

Yuto stares at him, eyes narrowed for one second, before they widen in understanding. “Oh,” he says. “You know who I am now? Did you-”

“I found out at the airport when I came home,” Ryosuke explains. “My friend told me about you,” he adds, unable to keep it in. It’s been two years and he should be over this, but he’s not. He really isn’t. “He told me about who you were, about the girl you were dating.”

Yuto keeps on staring at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Oh, Yama-chan,” he sighs. He takes Ryosuke’s hand and drags him inside the store, forceful in a way Ryosuke has never seen. He drags him all the way inside and into a backroom, only sparing a nod at the employees.

“Wait-” Ryosuke pries his hand away angrily. “I need to go somewhere so-”

“I wasn’t dating anyone,” Yuto says, and his eyes are pleading, genuine. “I didn’t tell you I’m a model because you didn’t know, and it was… it was _good_ , that you liked me because I was this stranger in Paris and not Nakajima Yuto. I liked that. I was going to tell you eventually.”

Ryosuke frowns. “Eventually?”

“In the morning,” Yuto says, and this time, he looks miserable. “But you left, and I…” He looks down, seemingly embarrassed of his emotions. “When I didn’t see you again, I thought I did something wrong.”

Horrible dread fills him so suddenly, it weakens his knees. He places a hand on the wall, looking anywhere but at Yuto. For two years, he acted like Yuto was the one at fault, but he knew too, how wrong it was to leave without saying goodbye. His insecurities were still at an all-time high back then. Even now, he would not believe the idea of Yuto being sad about him leaving, if it isn’t happening right in front of him. Yuto being a player who could sleep with anyone he wants is an easy image to conjure, despite how different Yuto was when they spent that day together.

Ryosuke jumped to conclusions, and it must have hurt Yuto.

His low self-esteem has a long list of victims, and Yabu likes to remind him of this every time he gets into his pessimistic spirals. He should have told Yabu about Yuto. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened, then.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Ryosuke says, as sincere as he could. “I’m sorry. I was an asshole.”

“You were,” Yuto agrees, looking up now. He looks tired, somehow, like this conversation really took a toll on him. With visible effort, he asks, “You said you were going somewhere? I’m sorry I dragged you in here.” He even looks honestly regretful of his actions.

“It’s fine,” Ryosuke says. “You deserved an explanation and I’m the asshole who left, so…” He sighs. Yuto must hate him now. “I’m going to the _Le Magnifique_ building for an interview.”

It is fascinating to see how those simple words brighten Yuto so quickly, as if that sentence recharged him right back to 100%. “I can show you the way,” he offers. Where does he get that energy? “I’m on a vacation, so I’m not busy at all. And I know that place like the back of my hand. I work there, sometimes.”

“Are you sure?” Ryosuke cannot imagine how Yuto can even offer. They’ve firmly established how big of a jerk he was. If it was Ryosuke, he would not forgive so easily. “You don’t have to! This isn’t Paris. I’m sure I can find my way.”

Yuto takes a deep breath, smiles that boyish smile he showed Ryosuke the first time they met, and says, “I’d like to get another chance to know you better. Properly, this time.”

 

Ryosuke wonders if this is another dream.

 

 _Le Magnifique_ is a tall, sleek building that fits more in Omotesando than in this side of Harajuku. It looks classy and foreign. Surrounded by thrift stores and small, colorful shops, it sticks out like a sore thumb. Ryosuke likes it. The building screams for attention by being edgy and metallic in the middle of chaos. The subversion is the art.

“It’s just a building,” Yuto says, when Ryosuke voices this opinion. He’s not sure what expression he makes, but it sends Yuto laughing. “I’m sorry! I go here all the time so… But it’s nice to see you’re still as excited about architecture as you were back then.”

“It was a soul-searching trip,” he admits, opening himself up. He figures Yuto deserves that. “I was in my second year of business school, but I was never really invested. I was more interested in the arts, but I wanted to be sure before I changed my course.”

“Did Paris convince you?” Yuto looks proud of the city, even now.

 _You did_ , he doesn’t say. “Yeah,” he answers. “It was beautiful.”

 

**vi.**

Inoo Kei becomes his new boss, and Ryosuke finds that beauty could be terrifying, too.

Ryosuke gets hired for the PR team, specifically the digital design committee for the posters and ads of their fashion shows. It’s a temporary position, and he has to work hard to hold on to it. People come and go, and the only way to stay is to be on Inoo’s good side.

“Do you think this is eye-catching enough?” Inoo asks, showing him the finished poster for their spring fashion show. He’s pouting and staring at the poster, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Not for the first time, Ryosuke is awed by how beautiful he is. His skin looks like porcelain and it is the most distracting thing in this office filled with artwork.

“Yes…?” Ryosuke answers, after a beat.

Inoo looks at him and frowns. “Are you asking me? Not good enough.” He tut-tuts and waves a hand. “Come back when you’re confident enough in your work.” He turns back towards his laptop; a clear sign of dismissal.

Ryosuke sighs and takes the poster, leaving the room with a dejected sigh.

“That bad, huh?” Okamoto Keito, Inoo’s secretary, looks up from his work to offer Ryosuke a sympathetic smile. He is probably used to seeing dejected employees walk out of the room, but his support still makes Ryosuke feel lighter. Keito is the healer to Inoo’s assassin. “You’ll get it. Fight!”

“Fight!” Ryosuke nods. “Thanks, Keito.”

 

Yuto is careful, and Ryosuke is, too. They don’t want a repeat of last time, no matter how thrilling it was. Paris was a dream, but this is reality. Ryosuke works here, and Yuto is partially a part of the company. They know more about each other, about their work and where they come from. Yuto knows about Ryosuke’s soul-searching trip, about being so insecure he couldn’t even try to apply for any art courses after high school. Ryosuke knows that Yuto has been a model his whole life, has dedicated everything to being the best at his craft. (Sometimes, Ryosuke remembers bits and pieces of their conversations the first time they met, about Yuto’s diet and his love for fashion, and he thinks maybe Yuto never really hid who he was. Ryosuke just didn’t see it.)

“Wanna go for dinner?”

Yuto knocks on their office door and peeks in. Ryosuke is alone, having stayed to finish the final version of the poster.

“Uh, sure,” he answers, saving his work and shutting down his laptop. “I’ll just tidy up a bit.”

Yuto waits for him, quiet as he watches Ryosuke move through the room. He does this, often, going silent and thoughtful as he waits. He likes to watch Ryosuke work, likes to hear him talk, _likes him_. Ryosuke does not understand why, but it’s still a heady feeling.

When he finishes, they walk to a nearby restaurant— their favorite, because they have gone enough times to choose a favorite— and settles in for a nice dinner.

“Staying late again?” Yuto asks, halfway through the meal. “Inoo-chan’s working you too hard.”

Ryosuke grimaces. “Using ‘-chan’ on Inoo-san feels like the best way to tempt death,” he says. “He’s your boss, too.”

Yuto tilts his head to the right, considering. “No, not really. We’re partners, if anything.”

“Ah, yes, suuure,” he drawls. Inoo has all the models and all the other collaborators wrapped around his pretty fingers. In the company hierarchy, Inoo is at the top and everyone else is below him. Yuto looks offended by his words, but he really cannot deny it.

They lapse into silence; with Yuto pouting, and Ryosuke trying not to smile at Yuto’s adorable expression.

After a while, a stray thought comes to him. “If you’re partners, does that make you my boss too?”

This time, Yuto frowns. “No.” He shakes his head repeatedly. “No, no. Sounds awful.”

“Hey! I’m a great employee.”

“Suuure,” Yuto replies, mimicking his drawl.

“I am!”

Yuto laughs. “I know you are,” he says. “But if I were your boss, it would be unprofessional to date you.”

Ryosuke raises an eyebrow. “And is that what this is?” He smirks. “Are you dating me?”

With a playful grin, Yuto shakes his head. “If I were dating you, you’d know. I’d like to call this pre-dating. It’s the second bullet on my five-point plan on how to woo you.”

Ryosuke is so thoroughly charmed. “A five-point plan?”

“Yeah! I’m thinking of making a powerpoint presentation. I need to be prepared!” Yuto looks proud and gleeful, like a child. His eyes shine and his smile is so bright it’s blinding. “Yama-chan deserves it.”

He does not know where Yuto gets the idea that he needs to be wooed. One smile from him and Ryosuke’s knees are weak. A simple sweet sentence makes his heart speed up. Ryosuke, despite how he acts, is easily smitten; and Yuto is the easiest person to like.

“But what about my plans to woo you?” Ryosuke asks, smile widening as Yuto’s cheeks fill with color. For someone so free with his feelings, he gets too easily embarrassed by Ryosuke’s few moments of honesty.

Yuto ducks his head, his ears turning red. It’s one of the cutest things Ryosuke has ever seen. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he mumbles. He looks up, cheeks still red but eyes bright and sincere. “I like you enough as it is.”

Ryosuke has never been good with telling people about his feelings, but right there, looking into those earnest eyes, he thinks maybe he would be able to try.

 

This is how it escalates:

Cautiously, but inevitably.

 

**vii.**

Ryosuke meets Takaki Yuya 4 months into working at Inoo’s company, in the worst way possible.

He had a lot of things in his mind, and he had to talk to Inoo as soon as possible. That is the reason why he only knocked once and barged into Inoo’s office without waiting for a reply. Inoo sometimes zones out when he’s drawing designs or when he’s typing things for work. They have all learned to come in after a knock or two, even without reply.

That leads to this:

To seeing Inoo sitting on his desk, shirt unbuttoned and disheveled, with a handsome guy slotted between his splayed legs.

“Oh! Oh, shit.” Ryosuke’s eyes go wide and his cheeks redden in shocked mortification. “I’m sorry! I’m gonna-”

“Do you need anything?” Inoo looks at him coolly, an amused smile on his lips. He pats the guy on the chest, and moves to stand up. “You look like it’s an emergency,” he says while straightening his clothes.

“I was going to ask about the… byline of the poster…” Subjected to Inoo’s and that random stranger’s gaze, he shrinks in embarrassment. “I can come back.” He almost says _continue what you’re doing_ , but stops himself just in time.

Inoo waves a hand. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s great that you’re here. I can introduce you now.” He walks around the table to sit on his chair. The stranger— his lover?— sits on the desk. He looks bored, but annoyed too, like Ryosuke’s appearance ruined his day. His skin is a rich brown color, and his eyebrows are perfect. His posture is that of a model, all effortless grace.

“Um.” Ryosuke stays where he is, unsure of what is happening.

“This is Takaki Yuya,” Inoo explains. “He just came back from a shoot in America.” He turns to Yuya with a smile bordering on sadistic. “This boy is Yamada Ryosuke.”

The air in the room seems to thin as soon as those words come out of Inoo’s mouth. Yuya looks at Ryosuke with a glare that promises bodily harm if Ryosuke ever comes near him. He doesn’t look scary, particularly, especially with Inoo beside him, but it still makes Ryosuke step back in caution.

“Why is he here?” Yuya asks Inoo, though his eyes remain glaring at Ryosuke. “Did Yuto-”

Inoo laughs. “Do you think I’d do that? I’m not that nice. He applied for a job and he’s good, so.”

Ryosuke would appreciate that compliment more if he isn’t utterly confused by everything else they are saying. “Yuto?” He feels like that’s the right question.

Yuya stands up, and in a few strides, he stops in front of Ryosuke with the meanest glare Ryosuke has ever seen in his life. “You don’t deserve Yuto,” he says, a threat hidden in his tone. “I know your type. I’ll be watching you.”

Before he could reply, Yuya walks off to the door and slams it behind him.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he says, bewildered.

Inoo stares at the door and sighs dreamily. “He’s really hot when he’s angry,” he says, conversationally.

Ryosuke gapes at him. “Did you just sic your boyfriend at me?”

“He’s not my boyfriend yet. He doesn’t like labels,” Inoo says with an exaggerated pout. He sighs, pointing to the seat in front of his table. “Come here. Sorry, that was funny. I couldn’t help myself~”

His boss is a weirdo. Ryosuke walks to the chair and pretends to be calm. “What was that about?”

“Yuya was in Paris when you met Yuto,” Inoo explains.

Ryosuke stares. “You _know_ about Paris?” That is so wildly inappropriate. Since when did he know? Did he hire Ryosuke while _knowing_ about it? Did it factor into his employment?

“Woah, calm down,” Inoo says soothingly, reaching a hand and patting him on the arm. “I didn’t know when I hired you. I figured it out.” He poses with finger-guns for a second, flashing a radiant smile as if someone is taking a picture. “Smart, aren’t I?” He wriggles his eyebrows.

“ _How_ did you figure it out?” Ryosuke asks, choosing to ignore his antics.

“Yuto was searching for an artist this whole time, you know? Since Paris. I didn’t really remember the name until I saw him going out to dinner with you,” Inoo says. “Yuya’s angry because he think you’ll do that again, I guess. He’s pretty simple-minded sometimes. He’s always been a bit overprotective of Yuto.”

Ryosuke looks down, taking all of that in. Yuto was searching for him, all this time, and Yuya saw enough to be angry at Ryosuke despite never having met him. Ryosuke _left_ Yuto after one night without even saying goodbye. Yuya is justified in his anger. Ryosuke thinks Yuto should be more angry at what he did.

“Yama-chan, darling,” Inoo calls him with a sweet tone, a fond expression on his face. “Whatever happened before, Yuto’s forgiven you, hm? That’s his right, as the wounded party. Yuya hasn’t seen you two interact.” He leans back, eyeing him up and down. “You work hard and you make Yuto happy. I really like you, Yamada. Your face is really pretty too! I would have recruited you as my model if you weren’t so…” He scrunches his nose. “You know, vertically-challenged.”

“Hey!” Ryosuke gasps, his indignance overpowering every other feeling. “I’m not that small!”

“See, you’re cute too!” Inoo coos. “So easy to anger; adorable. Who wouldn’t like you?”

Ryosuke huffs in annoyance, looking away to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “This is very inappropriate conversation for the office,” he says instead.

Inoo rolls his eyes. “You just saw me making out with my not-boyfriend,” he says, laughing. “This is fine. Although…” His eyes narrow, and that sharp smile appears on his face, instinctively making Ryosuke shiver in fear. “If that ever comes out of this office, you’re dead, okay?”

“Yes, sir!”

 

Guilt is a curious thing, and self-hate is one vice Ryosuke cannot seem to let go of, but Yuto has forgiven him, and that is his choice. Ryosuke has to learn to accept that. Yuto _likes_ him, and that’s fine. No matter how dream-like it is, Yuto chose to like him. The only thing Ryosuke can do now is work hard to be worthy of that affection. The only thing he can do is strive to be the best he can be and move forward from here.

“Ryosuke, I know it’s hard, but accepting the love people give you is a form of respect,” Yabu tells him, when he voices his doubts about his relationship with Yuto. “Believing that you can be loved is a form of trust. You told me he makes you want to be better, so do it. Try.”

He will.

 

The thing about Yuto is: he’s a top model, and that’s been his life for as long as he remembers. Ryosuke can see the difficulties and pressures of it, but he also knows that Yuto loves it more than anything. He loves being in front of the camera and wearing fashionable clothes and travelling the world for photoshoots. Yuto’s life is a whirlwind, taking him places sporadically. It means that oftentimes, they are not even in the same country.

This week, he’s in Milan for a fashion show.

“I met your friend,” Ryosuke says, in a lapse of silence during one night’s phonecall. Yuto may be out of the country, but communication is so easy now, and Ryosuke enjoys being able to talk to him every night. “Takaki Yuya?”

“Oh!” Yuto sounds excited, before he clearly realizes the implication of this. “Oh,” he says, in a more sombre tone. “Did he say anything bad?”

Ryosuke has an urge to say _it’s nothing_ , but he forces himself to speak up. A voice inside his head that sounds suspiciously like Yabu reminds him to be honest. “He told me I don’t deserve you,” he says, making it sound as casual as he could. “He told me he knows my type? I don’t really know what that means.”

Yuto makes a whimpering sound, like a hurt puppy. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ryosuke says. “I still think I deserve that.”

“Ryosuke, no,” Yuto says, unusually serious. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, but-”

Yuto’s deep sigh cuts through the line. “We met again,” he says, voice softening. “I got another chance to be with you, and I’d rather not look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Ryosuke smiles down at his blanket, warmth spreading in his chest. Yuto always knows what to say to make him feel better.

“Remember my five-point plan? The fourth one is to make you understand how grateful I am that we met again,” Yuto says, the grin clear in his tone. He must be so proud of himself for that one. “Repetition is key.”

Laughing, Ryosuke shakes his head with fondness. Yuto is a good person, and he deserves everything he has. That’s why Ryosuke is not that upset about Yuya’s actions, because Yuto should always have people who would fight for him. “It’s nice that he cares about you enough to say that much, though,” he says.

“He’s just worried,” Yuto explains. “I hope you can become friends. He’s not usually like that.”

Ryosuke doesn’t mention how they met, and how that really defines the impression he has of Yuya more than the threats he gave. Inoo has a relationship with the man, and Ryosuke thinks too highly of his boss to question his taste. If Yuya is Yuto’s friend, too, then there’s no doubt in Ryosuke’s mind that Yuya is worth befriending.

“Maybe we’ll be best friends by the time you come back,” Ryosuke says, laughing. “I might snatch your friend away from you!”

Yuto laughs, and it fills Ryosuke with warmth. “Oi!” Ryosuke can imagine his face, the way his eyes shine with mirth and his nose crinkle in amusement. He wants to see Yuto. He wants to see that smile up close, hear that laugh without the filter of the phone. “But seriously, I’ll be really happy if you become friends.”

“We will be,” Ryosuke promises. There’s very little he won’t do to make Yuto happy.

 

Of course, to do that, he has to talk to Yuya without the other man murdering him in cold blood.

Which is a pretty tall order, judging from the glares he sends Ryosuke.

 

He waits for the right moment to corner Yuya; to talk to him and clear everything up. He finds his chance when he sees Yuya walk alone to the smoking area at the end of the corridor. Everyone else in their office is working, so no one is there right now as far as he knows.

“Hey-”

He stops, stares at the room for a second, and says, “ _What the fuck_? Again?”

Inoo has Yuya on the wall, hands on his back pockets, and mouth latched on to his neck. Yuya’s hair already looks messed up, and it takes him a few seconds before his signature glare comes back.

“I’m sorry,” Ryosuke blurts out, though what he wants to say is _please stop making out where I can see you_. “I’m just gonna-”

“No, it’s fine,” Inoo says, giggling as if this was the most hilarious thing to him. “I’m going back to my office. My break’s almost over.” He pecks Yuya’s lips and walks off, just like that.

“You know, glaring at me really doesn’t do anything after everything I’ve seen,” Ryosuke says, unable to keep that in. Yuya still has a kiss mark on his neck, and there’s an obvious problem happening in his pants. Ryosuke would leave him alone to take care of that if he is a kinder man. He’s not. He needs Yuya here right now, vulnerable as he is. Yuto and Yabu never asked him to be _fair_.

Yuya pouts.

He _pouts_ , and looks away. He is not even close to scary.

“I like Yuto,” Ryosuke says, to get it out there. He wants to set the record straight here. “I didn’t mean to hurt him before, but that’s no excuse. I was an asshole and I’m trying my best to make it up to him. I have no plan to ever hurt him like that again.” Is that enough?

Yuya looks back at him, furrowing his eyebrows. “Do you even know how messed up he got after you left him like that? He’s too nice, so he probably never told you.”

Yuto didn’t. He firmly tells Ryosuke, all the time, to move on from that. “ _It’s not like I’m wooing you just because of Paris_ ,” he tells Ryosuke. “ _We met again, and that’s a miracle already. I want to focus on that._ ” Ryosuke appreciates his reasoning. He gets stuck in the past so many times, and Yuto pushes him to step forward. That’s one of the _many_ reasons why he likes Yuto.

Ryosuke doesn’t want to explain that much to Yuya. If he doesn’t know that, then he needs to reassess his understanding of his friend. Yuto is, at his core, a kind and forward-thinking person. He’s not gullible or stupid. He forgives because he does not want to dwell in the darkness.

“He kept searching for you. He was obsessed with finding you, and just when he was giving up, you reappear! Seems like a con to me.” Yuya scoffs. His anger boils to the surface, years of resentment spilling over. “What do you want, huh? His money?”

Ryosuke wants to roll his eyes. He really wants to. How does Yuya think he went to Paris? Went backpacking in Europe while still in college? He has _money_. That has never been an issue. Yuto’s a model with hundreds of thousands in his accounts, but Ryosuke’s family owns a chain of supermarkets. If anything, he’s the richer one in this relationship. (Yuto _knows_ that now, and likes to joke that he’ll be Ryosuke’s trophy husband someday. He’s ridiculous and Ryosuke doesn’t know why he likes him.)

With a deep sigh, Ryosuke gives Yuya his most unimpressed expression. “Listen, dumbass,” he says, and yeah, he probably won’t win points here, but he’s pissed. He’s tired and this Yuya keeps on yammering about stupid things. He deserves this. “I liked Yuto before I knew he was a model, and I like him even now when I know he buys stupid shit and doesn’t know how to save money. He’s not a _billionaire_. He really should stop buying life-sized Star Wars figures.”

Yuya seems taken aback by his words, so Ryosuke barrels on. “He likes me for some reason, so if you have a problem with that, why don’t you talk to him? Stop glaring at me!”

He pauses, takes a deep breath, and adds, “And you should really just label Inoo as your boyfriend. That ‘no-labels’ thing is a fad, and it’s unbecoming. I’m _embarrassed_ for you.”

Yuya stares at him with wide eyes, opening and closing his mouth without a sound.

“I told Yuto we’ll become friends for him,” Ryosuke says. “I’m not sure if you’ll be fine with that, but I really don’t want to make Yuto sad. If you do anything that’ll make him sad…” He leans closer, and imitates Yuya’s first threat, “I’ll be watching you.”

That gets a reaction.

It’s as if there’s a sudden break in his whole persona, like the cold glare is a mask that melts away, because Yuya suddenly crouches down and puts his face in his hands. There’s laughter, clear as day. “Oh my _god_ ,” he says. “That was _amazing_.” When he looks up, his eyes water from too much laughter. “Star wars figures? He showed you? And you _still_ like him?”

He won’t stop _laughing_.

“Really? This is your reaction?” Ryosuke thinks maybe Inoo and Yuya has complementing flavors of weird; that’s why they’re together.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound it at all. “I didn’t really imagine you’d be like this.” He sits down on the floor and looks up at him, offering a smile. “I can see why Yuto and Kei likes you.”

Ryosuke grimaces instinctively. “You’re worse than Yuto. ‘Kei’, hah.”

For some reason, that makes Yuya laugh again. He covers his mouth with his hand and sniggers, “A fad…”

Nothing about this man is threatening now, which is a good result. He still is laughing though, which is a confusing one. Ryosuke considers walking out and leaving him there.

After a few seconds, Yuya stands up and pats the dust off his pants. “Okay,” he says, smiling brightly. “I guess I’m fine with you now. If Yuto likes you, I don’t have any choice but to accept you anyway.”

“He wants us to be _friends_ ,” Ryosuke says. “You know how he is.”

Yuya sighs and offers a hand. “Then we’ll be friends. Deal?”

Ryosuke shakes his hand. “Deal.”

 

A week later, with Yuto back, they decide to go out to lunch with Yuya. After asking Keito about his whereabouts, they walk to the models’ rest area where Yuya was last seen.

“ _Ahhh_ ,” a moan resounds from inside. It sounds suspiciously like his boss. “ _Yes, there_!”

Ryosuke stops, glares at the door, and loudly says, “Oh, come _on_! Really?!”

Yuto looks at him in confusion and alarm.

“He’s _busy_ ,” Ryosuke grumbles as explanation, kicking the door lightly. “Let’s go have lunch without him.” To the door, he yells, “We’re leaving now! Enjoy!”

He hears an “I will!” from Inoo, which makes him drag Yuto faster away from that sinful room.

 

**viii.**

Ryosuke remembers it like it was just yesterday.

_He was feeling lost, and helpless, and alone._

_Art was something Ryosuke loved, something that made him want to work hard. It was like oxygen in his lungs, the way he needed it to live. Making art was his dream, but he never thought he could do it. He was not talented enough, never good enough. He thought it was a pointless dream._

_Business school made sense. He was the heir to their chain of supermarkets, and it would be easy to slip into that role after graduation. His future would be set, without any uncertainty._

_Two years and it felt like he was suffocating, lungs drying up from the lack of oxygen. He felt lifeless. Everyone saw how lonely he was, how unfocused, how apathetic. With Yabu’s push, he packed his bags and boarded a plane to Europe, as far away from everything as he can. He wanted to find himself._

_Instead, he found Yuto._

_Yuto appeared and reminded him of what happiness looks like, reminded him of true joy._

_Yuto appeared and reminded him of what beauty could mean._

_Yuto appeared and lit a fire in him, brought back the light he was missing, reminded him of how he used to see the world._

_Yuto appeared— and, in the process, Ryosuke found himself too._

 

_That morning, with his body buzzing with energy from the night before, he looked at Yuto and was struck with an inspiration. He took out his sketchbook and put pencil on paper for the first time since his high school graduation. It had been two years since he drew anything seriously, two years since he packed his sketchpad away and exchanged it with a balance book. He felt like a beginner. His lines were sloppy, sketchy and uncertain with the lack of practice, but he couldn’t stop himself. This view was too important not to be captured._

_Yuto’s back was a graceful slope, his skin marred with moles. The blanket hid everything below his waist, the cloth draped just above his ass, but that only added to the allure. He was facing Ryosuke, lips parted and eyes still closed. His eyelashes were impossibly long. His mole was still one of the most fascinating features Ryosuke has ever seen. His hair was soft and tousled. The warmth and comfort he exuded made Ryosuke want to come back to bed._

_Instead, Ryosuke drew the scene in front of him: from his bedhead, to his peaceful face, to the peek of an ankle at the end of the bed. He drew the way the sunlight framed him, the way it lit him up and added warmth to an already mellow view._

_He drew everything as it was, committing it all to memory, wanting to keep it forever._

_A beautiful dream, just for him._

_When he finished, he looked at his watch to see it was almost time to go. He’s leaving Paris, and Yuto. It was time to go home._

_It was time to wake up._

_He tidied up his belongings as quietly as he could. After, he teared the page from his sketchpad; a simple gift of thanks for the one who made him fall in love with Paris._

_He wrote “Thank you for this beautiful dream”, signed it, and left it on the sidetable._

_He leaned down and placed a kiss on Yuto’s cheek, light and careful. “I'm going back home,” he whispered. “I hope I’ll see you again.”_

 

**ix.**

It takes months of flirting, of pushing and pulling, of brunches and dinners, of late-night phonecalls and skyping from across the world, before Ryosuke says, “Are you free this Saturday? I’d like to ask you out on a date.”

Yuto’s smile is sudden and brilliant, pure joy coming off him in waves. It’s the expression Ryosuke wants to see on his face, always. “I’m free!” he exclaims. “It’s a date!”

 

Yuto makes him wait in front of Hachiko, because he’s the cheesiest man in the universe. Ryosuke objects to it at first, complaining about clichés and the danger of being spotted by fans, but Yuto puts on his pleading pout and begs, “I’ve never done anything like that! Please?”

Ryosuke concedes, and Yuto smiles that smile again.

There really is very little Ryosuke won’t do for that smile.

 

Hachiko's statue is as crowded as always, with people taking pictures and more people sitting around the benches waiting for their loved ones. The weather is nice; the sun out but clouds plenty enough to make it the right side of warm. It’s the perfect temperature for a day out. Plenty of people seems to think so too, because there are groups of friends all around and even an elderly couple holding hands at one of the benches. Ryosuke smiles politely when he catches their eye, and they greet him "good morning" with warm smiles. He sits a few feet away from them, behind the statue and away from the crowd.

Mere minutes later, he feels a shadow cast over him, and he looks up to see Yuto.

The first thing Ryosuke notices is the _eyeliner_. It’s unfair how much it fits him. It highlights his eyes, and makes them even more piercing. It somehow makes his mole more prominent too, which makes Ryosuke want to _touch_ his face. His hair is styled, but not too much, a good compromise between artful and cosy. His lips has a nice salmon pink color, and this is _just unfair_.

He’s wearing a knitted brown sweater under a dark gray coat. All that softness under that austere coat makes Ryosuke want to take it off. It’s a very smart outfit; and it looks _so_ good. Yuto looks beautiful. It’s like he’s not even trying to hide his model background.

Ryosuke is going on a date with a _god_.

He looks like a trashcan in comparison.

“Um, excuse me,” Yuto says, a small smile on his lips. There’s a glint in his eyes promising something mischievous. “Do you have a map?”

Ryosuke raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“I need directions,” Yuto says, “because I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

Ryosuke feels heat climb his face. The elderly couple laughs in amusement, and a man wolf-whistles at the side. “ _Jesus_ ,” Ryosuke says, laughing quietly. “I’m dating the cheesiest person on earth.”

Yuto leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m dating the most gorgeous person here,” he says.

“You’re dating… yourself?” Ryosuke shoots back.

Yuto rolls his eyes and offers a hand. “Oh, please. You’re the most beautiful person here, and they know it.” They hold hands, and on their way out, Yuto high-fives the grandpa with his other hand. “Right? My date is the most beautiful person here!”

The elderly couple smiles at them and nods. “You look good together,” the grandma says. “You remind me of us when we were younger.”

Yuto grins widely. “I hope we’ll be as much of a good-looking pair as you two are, when we’re your age.”

The grandma giggles, obviously charmed. “I’m sure you will, son. Hold on tight to each other, alright?”

Yuto looks at Ryosuke with the sweetest smile, squeezes his hand, and says, “I won’t let go.”

Ryosuke looks down at their hands, and he thinks, “ _I won’t, either_.”

 

**x.**

When they fall into bed the second time around, it’s nothing like Paris.

It’s slow and tender, like they have all the time in the world. It’s less of a fire, and more like warmth spreading from head to toe.

 

Yuto’s lips are sweet, but not like strawberries. Ryosuke knows that taste by heart now, has kissed those lips as many times as he wants in the past months. His kisses are warm and soft and like _home_.

 

Yuto’s hands caresses his cheeks, his shoulders, his chest, his thighs. He moves slowly, with light touches, mapping Ryosuke’s everything, as if treasuring his every side. His hands are like whispers, like prayers, and Ryosuke _wants more_.

 

When he whispers into Ryosuke’s ear, it’s in the language they both share. “ _You’re beautiful_ ,” he says, as he kisses down his chest. _“I am yours_ ,” he moans into Ryosuke’s neck.

 

Yuto fucks Ryosuke like he loves him, like he would give everything for him, like this is exactly where he wants to be. He fucks Ryosuke teasingly slow, stares right into his eyes as he thrusts in and out, in and out. _I love you_ , he seems to say, with every move. Ryosuke hears the unspoken words, and he believes it.

“More,” he whispers. “ _Please_.”

Yuto gives him exactly what he needs, as always.

Ryosuke whimpers and moans and screams his name, and Yuto comes with a shout of his name, too.

 

 

In the morning, Ryosuke looks to the side and sees Yuto still sleeping. At his bedside table is a framed drawing, the words “thank you for this beautiful dream” scrawled underneath.

Ryosuke smiles, leans down to kiss Yuto’s cheek, and whispers, “Thank you for finding me again”.

He stares at Yuto’s peaceful face: at that mole that is still as fascinating as the first time he saw it, at his long eyelashes and his disheveled hair. He stares at this man who loves him, and who he loves back, and he thinks, _This isn’t a dream_.

 

 

This is how it ends:

It doesn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> “ _Je ne suis pas saoule, je suis juste ivre de toi_ ” means “I am not drunk; I am intoxicated by you”


End file.
